A Conversation for The Things We Do When We Get Drunk

Eynsham, Oxford

Post 1

Shellers (Master of wit and ready repartee)

About 25 years ago or so a few friends and I were camping at Eynsham, just outside Oxford and we stumbled across a wonderful pub - the Queens Head - which was run by the best landlord and landlady I've ever met. They were called Frank (short for Francis, the landlady) and Tony (last heard of in London, if anyone knows them), and must have been good to have put up with our drunken antics on the several return trips we made - it kept the regulars amused anyway.

I remember one time leaving the pub sober (or so I thought) and turning dead drunk the second I stepped through the door - falling over the pile of barrels in the pub yard. On another visit, we staggered the mile or so back to the campsite (I fell into a ditch on the way) only to be confronted with a high locked gate. We all very nearly broke various limbs in climbing it and falling off only to discover the following day that there was an (open) side pedestrian entrance next to it.


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